


I Wish You Were Here

by WaldosAkimbo



Series: Charlie and The Scientist - A Study in Mutually Beneficial Affection [1]
Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attack, Recreational Drug Use, The Scientist does not have a name, Well I fell down this hole, and then kept falling, cursing, like I'm sure that's the only reason to rate this T, so have fun with that, the hole being newmann, until I found Charbitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 03:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15064481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaldosAkimbo/pseuds/WaldosAkimbo
Summary: While The Science Bitch is away for a conference, Charlie is allowed to stay at his apartment. But even with nightly Skype calls, it isn't enough and Charlie is having a really bad day. Really bad. Please, you stupid Science Bitch, just come home.





	I Wish You Were Here

**Author's Note:**

> This is strictly because of the AMAZING headcannons on tumblr from newts-geiszler that I basically fell in love with Charbitch. I fell down the Newmann hole and guess what, bitches? Here I am.

It’s not that he’d be gone forever, because he _promised_ , like, a million times or something that he would be back at the end of the week. That was…uh…that was….shit. Shit! _Shit!_ But he promised, and he’d written a note and he’d done it in a way that Charlie could read it, with a weird little scribble to show himself, stick-hand crossing stick-figure heart, big words, slanted just _so._ So _perfectly_. Just the sight of them made Charlie’s eyes sting. Just so, right? And so that they didn’t get all tangled up. Chopped up. Bashed up. Why was he so fucking stupid all the time that he-?

He promised. And he, like, he. He called. Like, Charlie knew he was going to call. He’d written a note about that too. They were going to Skype and he would get to see his face and maybe that would be better, but it was so far away and. And he. He was so far away. How could he just, like? Like?

That was so fucking far away though!

Charlie screamed.

Charlie screamed and tore at his hair as he walked the perimeter of the couch. Their couch. Their little blue “loveseat,” is what he called it and wasn’t that just the cutest thing in the world? Loveseat. Charlie figured it was called that because you had to cuddle up with whoever you were sitting with and whoever that was, right, you loved them? Charlie had tried a bunch of times to stay on his side of the seat, on his side of the divide of the two square cushions because he was all gross from doing Charlie Work that there was, like, no way that he wouldn’t be disgusted by it. Sitting there, eating popcorn together, watching a documentary.

Like, okay, like that one time when it was about the Shoebill, which was kinda a combination of cool/ horrifying as far as birds go and it was just interesting. He made it more interesting because Charlie liked to ask questions and he answered them and when he couldn’t, he’d pause whatever they were watching and look up the answers and share them and lean in to show the article he’d pulled up and they’d work on reading it and it was just!

But.

The divide.

The unspoken line.

Holy shit!

But he always patted his leg and invited Charlie across the divide and, okay, but it was so nice? It was so nice to just, like, lay his head down on his lap and he’d pet Charlie’s hair and call him these really nice things like “lovely” and “darling” and “handsome man” and Charlie just melted. Straight up, he melted.

He needed to melt now.

Charlie curled up on his side of the loveseat, his knees tucked into his chest, and thought so hard about his voice. That, like, super smart Scientist voice of his. All British and proper and “lovely.” He was, like, the epitome of lovely. And he needed to be here.

So stupid.

So stupid!

Charlie vibrated, his knees bouncing on the couch and his fist scrapping lines over his temples. It wasn’t enough. It smelled like him, but not enough. It was his side of the couch, but not _enough_. And he could talk all he wanted on the video and everything, but it wasn’t _enough_.

He needed to melt. Like. _Now_.

Charlie had his permission to be here. He could stay in the apartment—ha, the “flat” he called it, wasn’t that so fucking cute? It wasn’t even flat. It was in, you know, the dimension that they were in. He’d explained to Charlie that it was 3D, but, like, nothing was coming at him like it did with those stupid glasses for the movies and, like, okay, if that’s 3D but it’s also 2D like he’d explained all movies were, and, like, okay, but…okay…but…yeah, it got so confusing, honestly? But it made sense when he said it and Charlie thought, for a little while, he had it. He had so much. So. But, anyways, Charlie was allowed to stay while he was gone off to Chicago. He had given Charlie a key a while ago, but he said, in no uncertain terms, that Charlie was welcome to stay there while he was gone. Encouraged was probably more accurate.

“Please stay here while I’m in Chicago. It would make me feel better. And I can call you every night,” he had said over dinner. Charlie remembered the low lights and the way he touched his hand and that soft look in his eye, not like pity or something but, like, nicer than that.

Chicago was so far away. Apparently for some convention where they were presenting something on a panel and it was, like, super important and Charlie was, like, super proud of him? Just a week. So short. Wouldn’t even be that bad.

It was bad.

Worse, because they’d been working on ‘controlling” his “worryingly destructive impulses” to “self-medicate against anxiety attacks.” Charlie made a face as he recalled the words, flittering air quotes around them and sticking out his tongue, mocking them. Mocking him. But, like, no. Not mocking _him_. Because…? Because? Because he, like, what? He loved…augh!

Okay, but, the point was, there was nothing in the apartment—flat, god _damn_ it, dude, he was so fucking cute, wasn’t he?—to get himself high. He’d tried. The glue wasn’t the right kind and he didn’t have any spray paint or anything. And, like, even his hair products weren’t really doing anything. There were some cleaning chemicals under the sink, but Charlie had promised, like, seriously. _Seriously_. Don’t drink bleach. Seriously. That one was, like, drilled into his head and when Charlie, what was the word? When he…acquired? Awkwarded…no. Acquie… _Acquiesced_? When he _acquiesced_ to his _request_ , he had kissed Charlie as a reward and, like, that right there was the only seal of approval he needed. No more bleach. Kiss again. And not even some weird sloppy kisses with, like, gross amounts of tongue and those grabby hands and, like, all that weird moaning shit? Okay, yeah, sometimes he moaned into a kiss, but when he did it, Charlie’s heart kinda did this thing where he thought it was gonna explode? Because it was just this, like, super cute tiny little thing! It was! And he was always so _careful_ about how he kissed. Like he asked for permission and stuff! Who _does_ that?

He does that.

He needed to come home.

Charlie needed to melt.

There was nothing in the apartment/flat, but the apartment/flat was the only place where, like, nobody was yelling at him or asking him to go down into the basement and bash rats and there was a fucking population explosion or something because there had been so many. So many. So goddamn many, dude, it. Oh, Christ, it hurt, man. It hurt. All those little beady eyes and those little tiny hands and all those soft little ears and shit? No, but, he wasn’t there. He was out of it. Charlie was where he couldn’t get jumped and, like, stop crying, dude, it happens all the time, man, it’s not like they were actively stuffing him into that weird hot place against his will, they just, like. Okay, so, the Gang was probably just trying to clean him up and they just, sort’ve, forgot to ask this time. He did sort’ve smell like sewage and sweat and blood. But that was from the fucking rats, guys! And the goddamn sewer! When it’s the most obvious answer, like, it’s Okay Razorblades or whatever. That they _said_ he had to—

Ugh!

Charlie was holding his head, his legs bouncing, and it was too loud in the too quiet and he just. So stupid, right, because, like, okay, it’s not their fault. It’s not their fault that they, like, were trying to clean him up, probably. It had been a while. Because he was gone and Charlie just, like, _maybe_ didn’t see the point in trying to shower because he wasn’t there to make sure the door was locked and everything was fine and nobody was coming in and just. So stupid, honestly. And _maybe_ the Gang got used to this, like, _slightly_ cleaner Charlie that they were just…helping?

Not helping.

Not.

Charlie checked his watch, but he was so agitated that he wasn’t even sure what the time said, before he grabbed his army jacket and basically launched himself out of the apartment/flat. There was a drugstore down the street and a bodega nearby. He just needed something. Small. Something. Then he would come right back, and he’d lock the door. Hell, Charlie would do it three times if he thought it was going to keep him from dying, dude, but also, no. Obsessive compulsive something or other wasn’t, you know, _good_. He’d talked to Charlie about that and maybe trying to help Charlie’s mom with hers, but Charlie didn’t like bringing him over to his mom’s because.

So many reasons.

She hated foreigners.

She counted everything in threes.

Uncle Jack liked to drop in because he was _family_.

Yeah, fuck that, Charlie was out the door and promised, out loud, that he’d be back in time for their call, because, well? He promised. Okay? Good enough.

\---

Good.

 _Oooooooooh_ shhhhit!

Enough.

Charlie blinked too much when he saw the icon he’d been staring at sort’ve move. Move, like, really move. He snorted and sniffled and drew the blanket down around his head a little tighter as he clicked the icon with a little more _gusto_ than necessary. The screen expanded, and Charlie sat back, letting his face take up the whole world. Charlie couldn’t even feel his legs basically vibrating underneath the desk, pumping in a giddy dance at seeing him again.

“Oh hey!” Charlie said, blinking too much. Too much. So much. Was he crying? Was he still crying? Stop that, dude. “Oh, hey. _Hey_. Oh man, dude.”

“Charlie,” he answered warmly, those seriously beautiful shoulders slumping with what Charlie hoped was relief. “Darling, it’s so good to—”

He paused, leaning into the screen and Charlie wished he had on those 3D glasses so that he could see him come out of the screen. Then, maybe, Charlie could reach up and grab his face and ask, you know, in that “delightful” polite way he had, if he could kiss him. But no 3D glasses and no kisses, of course. Charlie chewed at his cheeks under his scrutiny or whatever, trying not to wiggle too much. Instead, he pulled the towel…when was it a towel? He thought he had a blanket? Charlie looked up, confused when the blanket definitely just morphed into a towel. Well, whatever, he pulled it tighter to his head, like he was going to keep his brains from floating out the of top of his skull or something.

“Charlie?”

Oh shit! Shit, he’d been talking through all of that! Shit! Charlie hummed an answer, leaning forward, forcing himself to focus. Pay attention. Holy shit, how could he not pay attention?

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here. Totally here, dude. What’s up?”

“Charlie.”

There were so many ways he could say Charlie’s name and every time, they did that thing. That thing that he just wanted to happen, which was he felt like he was sort’ve slipping into the little spaces in the world and being held still. Like, a puddle of water soaked up into a sponge. And then sort’ve just held. It was the melting he wanted, except maybe now, with the spray paint, it was a little exported by the situation. No...wait. Not exported. Expelled…ecstatic? Accessorized? Fuck.

“Hey,” Charlie said, cutting him off, his eyes focusing again and god damnit, he missed another little snippet of his words. God _damnit_ , pay _attention_ , dude! “What’s that word again, right, where things get, like, out of hand? Sounds like accessorized?”

“What? No, you haven’t answered my question, Charlie. Please. Please, I need you to focus for me, darling.”

“I am!” Charlie screeched, feeling his face go all flushed and hot and gross. “I am all the focused I could ever be.”

“Yes, how _much_ did you inhale?”

“How much? Like.” Charlie blinked. There was something knock-knocking on the other side of the world there and that thing was totally shame. Which was a fucking bummer, so he kept twitching his head away to avoid it. Don’t touch. Then Charlie would be safe and sound, dude, just. Bees knees. “Like, the right amount. The. The amount. Is. What’s the word, though? Extra biased.”

“Are you alone?” he asked, so tenderly. Like he cared. Charlie really hoped he cared. He jerked his head away faster, harder, because it felt like he was just going to sob and it kinda ruined everything if he kept crying so much. “Is there someone I can call?”

“What, no, dude. I called you. Or. You called me. We’re calling.” Charlie grinned, even though he really didn’t feel like it. People usually had a, what, a _positive response_ when he smiled. Not always. Sometimes he was creepy about it. But he was trying really hard not to be creepy. He was trying really hard, period. “Don’t hang up on me to call someone else, man. Okay? Please? I just want to talk to you.”

“Alright,” he answered softly.

“I wish you were here,” Charlie mumbled.

“Me too,” he said, and Charlie looked at him. Saw how, like, sincere he was. How worried he was. For Charlie of all people, who was just a fucking idiot, seriously. Just some janitor with silver paint flashed under his nose. He looked so “lovely” and soft in his orange-tinted hotel room out, so far away from Philly where Charlie wanted him and needed him and, basically, he pulled the blanket/towel down over his eyes and sobbed into it. “Oh. Charlie, please. Please talk to me?”

“About what?” he whined from within the shelter of his blanket. Towel. Shelter. Thing.

“Tell me what happened?” he asked, like offering something, like it was a stepping stone.

“What happened?” Charlie smiled, wiping under his nose and smearing some of the paint on the back of his hand. He scrubbed at his eyes next, letting the towel-blanket-blanket-towel slide to his shoulders. It was cooler when he was out from under it. It made his scalp feel all tingly and he blinked away the tears again. “It was Frank,” he said with a sigh, like it was so obvious, really. Charlie rolled his head back onto the loveseat.

“Frank?” he asked, encouraging him to continue.

“Yeah. Yeah, he—” Charlie laughed, slipping back further onto the couch and wrapping himself up so now it was more like a cape than blanket-towel-shelter. “He flushed this gold wristwatch down the toilet, right? Like you do. I mean, the guy’s nuts sometimes and he was being a jerk and was probably high on some of that ritarall stuff again because he gets all, y’know.”

Charlie clacked his teeth together a few times to demonstrate Frank grinding his and getting really weird. He tried to do it gently, too, because while he had been brushing his teeth more, they were still, like probably way too loose for any normal human being. Charlie was not normal. God, that made him fee like shit. He sighed, trying to find his story again.

“Yeah. Yeah, so, the guys knew about it and they thought, well, there’s probably all kinds of shit down in the sewers from idiots like Frank flushing their valuables. And we were talking about it and one thing lead to another, like it does, and. Okay, so, you _know_ I can hold my breath a long time, right?  And they have no problem with pushing me down a manhole, like. No problem. So, obviously I’m the one that goes down there, but we had the line wrong and, I mean, yeah. Obviously, we don’t find anything. Except shit, of course.”

Charlie laughed, groaning up at the ceiling, two parts relieved to share, one part ashamed of just what a fucking dirt grub he was, honestly. Why did he even like Charlie? Why did he care about him?

“You…went into the sewers?” he asked, so fucking gently, like he did. Just trying to follow along, the “lovely” genius.

“Yeah!” Charlie answered. “Obviously.”

“And then…you came home?”

“What? No!” Charlie sat up again, looking back at the blue loveseat like he was expecting a stain on it. But his heart was all warm again when he said “home,” like it was Charlie’s home too. Was it? He’d have to ask. But later. Later later when this wasn’t, just, a whole fucking thing. When he got “home” again. Then Charlie would ask. “Oh, no. No. No, we went back to Paddy’s, obviously.”

“Oh.” He relaxed again, nodding to Charlie’s story. Did he think Charlie was inane? Insane? Was there a difference between those two words? Either way. He nodded, and Charlie felt a little sad about that distant look on his face. “Of course. And…did something…happen…at the bar, Charlie?”

“No,” Charlie mumbled, sinking back again. Charlie sighed and before he could ask for Charlie to elaborate, he was cut off. “Yes! They basically locked me up in the basement.”

“They _locked you_ up? In—”

“Okay, I can hear it in your, like, in your voice? That’s not the first time. And that’s not the problem.”

“That’s not—”

“The problem, right. No. See, okay, I get that the rat problem had, like, gotten outta _hand_. And they made me that really fancy _stick_. And they were a pissed because I lost a few flashlights trying to get around the sewers, so. I mean, I get that. That’s not the problem.”

“Charlie….”

“So, I’m wailing on them, right? I mean, these guys aren’t small, either, you know? They’re, like, ready for war, dude. But I’m getting after them and I’m wearing myself out and I’m covered in, like, all this shit and it’s not great. But when I’m finally let out again, they go and they fucking jump me—”

“They did _what_?”

“They said I had to take a shower and, like, I’m just exhausted at this point, okay? I wanna _go_. But I want a beer first and they keep shoving me away from the bar and, like, telling me I’m gonna have to go into the basement again until they got everything ready. Like it’s just this whole thing. And they try and jump me to get me to shower, right? Telling me it’s, like, not even just going to be a hosing. They could so easily do that, too. I’d expect a hosing, you know. But, no. Get this, okay? For some reason they’re trying to be nice about it and I don’t know if it’s because of the sewers or because they accidentally locked me up, but, like, they keep telling me it’s for my own good and all this shit and it got really _loud_ and really _weird_ and stuff and what are you doing?”

Charlie leaned forward, squinting at the screen. He tapped it once, pulling his finger back so he didn’t smudge the monitor or anything. He asked again, “Hey, what’re you doing?” as his goddamn “lovely, darling, handsome man” leaned back and muttered quietly into his cell phone.

“Yes, I know, but Beth can present on my behalf…. No, Frank, I—”

“Are you talking to Frank?” Charlie asked, his voice pitching up in his panic. “Hey, don’t call Frank. I don’t want to go over there.”

“Pardon me,” he muttered quietly, and held his hand over the phone, turning away from it. “Sorry about that. What did you say?”

“Are you talking to Frank?” Charlie repeated.

“Yes.” Then it seemed to hit him, as he lifted his chin, nodding, then shaking it. “Oh, no. Not…it’s not _your_ Frank, darling. Someone from work.”

“Someone from work?” Charlie asked.

“Yes. Just a moment.” He turned back to his other conversation and Charlie chewed on his fingernails, waiting patiently. Not patiently, but at least quietly. That was the best he could do, honestly. He vibrated on the couch and he chewed his nail and he waited, because that’s just what he could do right then. “Yes. Could you? Oh, thank you, Frank. Honestly. No, yes, bit of a family emergency. Thank you. Yes. Alright then. Thank you, goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Charlie mumbled against his fingers, sitting up again. “What was that about?”

“Taking care of things here,” he answered as he looked at the screen instead of the little camera thing, his face all soft and distracted and his glasses—he called them Readers because they were for reading, so cute—lit up by blue patches as he clicked on something. Whatever he was searching didn’t appease him, but he continued until he had whatever it was he needed. He nodded, finally, at Charlie. “There we are. Now. Can you promise you’ll stay in for me?”

“In?” Charlie looked around. “Yeah, I’m in. Why?”

“I just need you to stay there until tomorrow,” he answered. “Can you promise me?”

“Can I have a kiss if I do?” Charlie asked, pushing his luck. But it made him smile, relieved, and Charlie did the same.

“Yes, darling. You may. Just. I want you to get some water and you may have anything in the fridge and just…stay in tonight. Please.”

“Oh, dude. Yeah. Totally. I’m tired anyways, so. I don’t wanna go home.”

His eyes softened. He leaned forward and, again, Charlie had that reaction in his guts where he wanted to reach out and stroke his face, but his fingers just met the screen of the computer and it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t fair. Charlie sighed, looking red-eyed and probably just so awful. But he smiled and that made it better.

“You are home,” he said and Charlie choked on another laugh, something mixed between a laugh and a sob, really. If he were honest. “I love you. Stay in for me.”

“I promise,” Charlie answered dutifully and just before he signs off, Charlie blurts out, “I love you too!” because he almost forgot and that? That right there would be just the worst.

\---

It was dark and warm and everything had that slightly floaty feeling to it when Charlie stirred. It was dark not because it was dark out. It was because the shades were drawn. And it was warm because he was curled up tight on the loveseat, holding his knees to his chest, covered up by his blanket. Towel. Cape. Because he hadn’t kicked off his shoes, even though he should have left them by the door. Because he had been asleep and sometimes, dude, he just got sweaty when he slept. The floaty feeling was probably also from just waking up and because his high was just shot right outta the sky. Gone. Dead.

Was he dead?

No, that’s stupid.

Was he, though?

There was a gentle hand smoothing back his hair and someone whispering to him in these soft, perfect words in the most soft, perfect voice Charlie ever knew. He shifted with a low groan, reaching up until he found the wrist and pulled it down to his chest. The other person laughed, petting Charlie’s shoulder.

“I’m sure the bed would be more comfortable than the loveseat, darling.”

“An’ you owe me a kiss,” Charlie mumbled. “Cause I… _exacerbated_ …the situation.”

“You did not,” he said and helped Charlie up enough that he could sit with him. Charlie crawled into his lap almost immediately, resting his head against his thigh. “I’m just glad to see you here.”

“Me too,” Charlie said sleepily, and wrapped his arms around him. “Don’t go.”

“I won’t. I’m here.”

“Promise?” Charlie asked, almost asleep again. Almost. Drifting off before his head started buzzing too much and he had to figure out how to slow it down without upsetting anyone. Drifting off because he finally felt like he was allowed to, really. To rest. Not enough that he missed the tender kiss on the side of his head, though. Because he promised.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man, was it hard to read without naming the Scientist? I hope not. I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
